


Day Off

by koalaboy



Category: Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), Justice League Dark (Comics), The Demon (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 10:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: The demons of Hell are relatively civil for a day and John allows himself to pick up his old bass guitar - Jason is equally surprised and intrigued.





	Day Off

On the rare days that the beings of Heaven and Hell decided to take a break and be civil, the Justice League Dark, or 'Demon Fuckers' as John had so eloquently been referring to them, had the day off.

Jason was sketching at a small desk in one of the more public rooms of the House of Mystery. Over five hundred years of practice and he still could never quite get the hair shading right. He bites his lip in concentration and barely notices the click and crackle of an aux cord being plugged into an amp.

John fiddles with the output volume until the electrical hum of his bass guitar could be heard. He smiles to himself and runs his fingers along the thick metallic strings. His fingers had lost the callouses that came with playing and he knew the strings would cut into his fingertips. He didn’t mind the slight irritation when it came to this. He presses play on the mp3 player he had plugged into a speaker. The first few grating chords of _Highway to Hell_ flood the room. John plucks along – a few milliseconds behind on the notes he forgot or when he had to change frets. He curses every time his version of the song sounds slightly out of tune and blames it on the old strings rather than his playing. He was rubbish and he knew it, but he felt free. He taps his foot to the beat and the bass fills his body with what might be described as the John Constantine version of joy. A tiny smirk lights up his face as he plays along, mumbling some of the words to himself. His body sways to the music and he bobs his head. He looked like a proper tosser, in his opinion, but fuck, if it wasn't fun.

After the first song and a few others by his less favourite artists, he plays through _Anarchy in the UK_ and for those few minutes, he’s the old John, pre-Newcastle – clad in his black denim jacket; bisexual pride flag, anti-Nazi, pro-AIDS research sew-on patches, blonde hair spiked up, writing music that would one day lead to a revolution.

When the song ends he perches himself on a wooden chair and almost affectionately plucks at the strings some more. It was a familiar sound and it had escaped being tarnished by the memories of Newcastle. After the incident, he had feared that playing bass might trigger him, but instead, it made him feel more in control; more stable.

“You’re good,” Jason says from where he was leaning in the doorway.

John makes a face as he turns to face him, “How long have you been there takin’ a gander at me?”

Jason hums in thought, “Since the first song.”

John groans loudly to hide his embarrassment. It doesn't work. “I’m rubbish. S’just—”

“Don’t apologize. You enjoy it; I can see that. I think its… sweet.”

Jason pushes himself from the doorframe and saunters towards John, a playful smile on his face.

John rests the heavy bass guitar against a bookshelf and stands to press himself against the taller man. “I’m a lot of things, luv, but I ain’t sweet.”

“Perhaps not in how you view yourself. However, I see you differently,” Jason counters, his arms around John’s middle, “I see someone who, even if he tried - and he has tried -, can’t escape his or hell’s demons. And I know exactly what that feels like.”

John looks up at Jason and his lips twitch from the emotions the other’s words conjure up. “When I play… I feel normal. I don’t feel like dying.”

Jason nods and presses his lips to John’s forehead, “I understand.”


End file.
